The Wizard of Fury Chapter 13

AN: This is the final chapter before the time skip that leads to the main characters becoming adults. After this point, we will be entering into smut territory. It make take a couple of chapters before we reach that point, but I promise that it'll come sooner rather than later.

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The salty air aboard The Fury reminded him of home. Dragonstone, being surrounded by sea, always smelt of salt. Their brief stay at the Arbor had smelt of fruit mostly, which had a strange, disorientating effect upon Harry. However, all of it paled in comparison to what he felt around Margaery Tyrell.

Back when he’d lived in the United Kingdom, he’d experienced countless strange phenomena around magic. He hadn’t learnt how to truly decipher such things, but he had come to recognise magic for what it was.

And what he’d experienced with Margaery had been magical.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Ser Davos asked him as he placed a hand upon his shoulder. The act of paternalistic comfort was something that Harry was unaccustomed to but normally appreciated, but today his thoughts overwhelmed everything else.

“I’m fine,” Harry answered evasively.

He could tell that the man didn’t quite believe him, but neither was he willing to push Harry on this. Everyone had been giving him more leeway since his capture at the hands of the Greyjoys.

“We’ll be at Dragonstone within the hour,” Davos said, trying to brighten Harry’s spirits. “Won’t it be good to be back home again?”

“It will,” Harry agreed. He pulled away from Davos. “I should finish packing.”

It was an excuse more than anything else. He was already all packed up, but Davos didn’t know that. All Harry really wanted was a few more moments of peace to think things over yet again.

He stepped into his cabin and closed the door behind him, giving himself the solitude he needed. The only sound came from the rocking of the ship and the cries of the sailors outside as they managed the ship against the waves.

As Harry sat back down on his bed, his thoughts immediately drifted back off to the young woman who’d been on his mind for the many weeks they’d been at sea since leaving the Arbor.

He’d left her a letter the night he left, and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were some waiting for him back at Dragonstone. He’d told her to write to him after all, and it was faster for ravens to fly overland rather than taking the long way around Westeros like The Fury had to. He’d need to read her letters first before he could really draft a reply, but he didn’t even know where to begin.

Margaery seemed so young compared to him. Although their physical bodies were of the same age, Harry’s mind was that of a fourteen-year old rather than that of an eleven-year old. Margaery reminded him of Ginny in a way. Ginny was always shy and yet not shy, and Margaery acted similarly to that. The major difference he noted was that Margaery was far more capable of intelligent thought than Ginny was. She saw insights into him that few others noticed. If it hadn’t been for Stannis, perhaps they would have been able to learn more about one another.

He wished they would have spoken for longer, but alas, they’d be reduced to using ravens to send letters between one another. Harry had little practice using them, though he’d seen Maester Cressen send countless ravens to send messages across the realm. He hoped that Maester Cressen would be willing to accommodate his messages.

There had been a magical twinge within his breast when he’d encountered Margaery. The longer he pondered upon it, the more sure he was of the fact that Margaery had something special within her. It wasn’t anything that he’d encountered back at Hogwarts, back at home, but it was something particular to this land. Harry’s senses had never failed him before, so he assured himself that Margaery had some spark of magic within her that had ignited with his.

At least, that was what his senses told him. The truth was that his understanding of magic was far more lacking than it should be. Hermione had been the studious one of the group, always questioning the nature of magic and seeking to understand everything about it. Harry, in that regard, couldn’t compare. His instincts, intuition, and magical power carried him through school and the trials he faced.

He’d spent countless days trying to piece together what he’d experienced with Margaery. In all of his time at Hogwarts, he’d never heard about anything like what he experienced. He didn’t know if it was something unique or merely something rare enough that he hadn’t heard about it back then. Regardless, it left him puzzled.

There was no way he was going to find an answer unless he managed to make a wand; at least then he’d have some means of practising magic reliably.

“Accio,” Harry said, flicking his wrist towards his cloak resting on the floor. The fabric flew towards him through the air, but it was sluggish and off course. Harry had to snatch it out of the air lest it fly straight past him into the wall.

He’d finally unlocked magic without the use of his wand, but all it did was remind him of why he used a wand in the first place. Wandless magic was imprecise and volatile. Once, Harry had summoned a goblet towards himself, only for it to smash up into the ceiling and cause a sailor to come by and check if he was alright.

The feather he now owned would work wonderfully as a core for his wand, but he still needed to find some wood and figure out how to craft a wand in the first place. He didn’t have the luxury of trial and error; if his feather was somehow damaged in the process, he’d be stuck until he found something else to act as his core.

A problem for another time though. Once he was back at Dragonstone, he’d have all of the privacy he needed to begin experimenting.

Pushing off of the bed, Harry landed smoothly on his feet and threw his cloak over his shoulders. The large chest at the foot of his bed was all packed and sealed, ready to be collected by his servants once they reached the shore.

When he stepped back out onto the deck of the Fury, he found his father standing near the bow of the ship staring off at Dragonstone as it steadily grew closer. The island looked exactly as Harry remembered it. It was strange that he expected it to look any different, but he did. Perhaps it was due to the changes that he himself underwent.

Harry manoeuvred carefully between the busy sailors, who were pulling in the sails, to reach his father’s side. Stannis didn’t so much as grunt in acknowledgement of Harry. He still wasn’t one for unnecessary words, regardless of how much closer they’d become over the course of this trip.

When his father said nothing, Harry chose to speak up.

“We’re getting close,” he said simply.

“Your mother will have missed you terribly,” Stannis replied. “She’s always dreamt about having a child to dote after.”

“Then I’ll be sure to spend time with her,” Harry said.

Selyse, his mother, was a strange woman. Her height and distant disposition resembled that of Stannis, yet her character could be anything but. She was a cold, distant woman, and yet she’d dote upon Harry at the oddest of times. She was mercurial in all things, and Harry had never managed to come to terms with her unusual behaviour.

“Good,” Stannis said. “She’s deserving of some attention after our time away.”

The sailors smoothly guided The Fury into port. The smaller vessels made way for the massive galleon and all those ships that flanked it. Before long, the port was rife with activity as countless men worked to help bring the countless ships in to nestle within their posted positions. Harry watched alongside Stannis as the men moved in smooth, practised motions. They showed the discipline that Stannis had applied upon them, and it had clearly been kept up since his departure.

It wasn’t long before a long, wooden plank was brought forth to help them disembark. A flurry of men were waiting on the docks for them, gilded and shining in the midmorning sun. It stunned Harry to see him look down upon such men. Armour was not worn to be bright and shining; armour was worn to protect oneself from harm. Those that wore such pristine armour revealed themselves to be nothing more than cowards or men who’d yet to fight in a proper battle.

Stannis was the first to walk down the plank to the docks below. He wore the same serious, stern expression that he always did. The castellan of Dragonstone, Ser Axell Florent, the uncle to Lady Selyse, was there to greet them.

Stannis didn’t give the man a chance to speak. He was already asking questions before he’d left the plank.

“Where is Lady Selyse?” Stannis asked Ser Axell.

“She’s over in the wheelhouse, my lord,” Axell bowed his head, gesturing down the docks. Harry craned his neck to see a small wheelhouse sat beside the harbourmaster’s building. A pair of Baratheon guards flanked the wheelhouse, keeping a watchful eye for anything untoward.

Stannis’ expression didn’t change at all, but Harry could hear the disapproval in his voice. “Why is she still in there?” He asked.

Ser Axell glanced at Harry and then back to Stannis. “Did you not receive our letters?”

“What letters?” Stannis asked.

“Lady Selyse discovered that she was with child only days after your departure,” Ser Axell informed him. “She’s given birth not a month prior.”

Stannis sucked in a deep breath. “Show me to her.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Harry asked curiously. Strangely enough, he wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling at the news that he had a sibling. He’d always wished for one when he was younger, but that thought had faded once he truly learnt how cruel his cousin, Dudley, could be.

“A girl,” Ser Axell smiled. “Blue eyed and black of hair. Healthy too.”

There was a swirl within Harry’s chest that he couldn’t quite describe. A sense of pride, perhaps. Or, more likely, a sense of happiness. Another life within this difficult world was something to be celebrated. Without the modern medicine that muggles practised or that of witches and wizards, men and women were left to do what they could against the wheels of fate.

“It’s wonderful,” Harry exclaimed. “A sister. Does she have a name?”

“Your lady mother was waiting for your lord father to return before officially naming her,” Ser Axell answered. “She wished to see you two the moment you docked.”

“Then we shall wait no longer,” Stannis declared as he started off for the wheelhouse.

The great beast waited for them, still as any building around it. The structure was obscene: a small wooden shack built upon wheels. It was far larger than any car Harry had seen back in England, and he knew that it could easily carry eight or more people within it. The ceiling wasn’t especially high, but it was enough for a man to stand within it. Selyse and her daughter would have plenty of room inside of it.

Stannis opened the door to the wheelhouse to find Selyse within with her daughter suckling at her breast. Harry paused for a moment outside as Stannis stepped within, and then he followed a moment afterwards.

Selyse, his mother, was nearly as tall as Stannis was. Her face was hard as stone and her body was terribly frail. In many ways, she reminded Harry of his Aunt Petunia. She had that same whingey tone of voice whenever she spoke.

“Stannis,” she said with an unusual amount of love.

Harry wasn’t so blind as to recognise the fact that his parent’s marriage was nothing more than a sham. They didn’t love each other one whit, and yet, they remained together. Such were the traditions of this world.

“I’m here, my lady,” Stannis replied as he sat down next to his lady wife.

Selyse didn’t hesitate before offering Stannis their daughter, all bundled up in a thin collection of fabric. She glanced up at Harry, barely noticing the scar upon his forehead before turning back to Stannis.

“Her name is Shireen, as we discussed,” Selyse told him.

Harry climbed in next and stared down at his baby sister. She seemed so small. So different from him. Her face was pudgy and yet striking all at the same time. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d appear once she was older.

“She’s perfect,” Stannis declared.

“Isn’t she just?” Selyse cooed. “She ought to be brought back to the castle. It’s draughty out here.”

“Of course,” Stannis agreed wholeheartedly. “Take care of my daughter.”

“I shall,” Selyse promised.

Harry stepped out of the wheelhouse a moment before Stannis did. The men driving the horses gave them both a bow before they whipped the horses to begin their progress back up towards the castle of Dragonstone.

“Are you alright, father?” Harry asked him as they watched the wheelhouse roll back up towards the castle.

Stannis lingered in silence for many moments before he finally spoke up. “Yes,” he said simply. “I never imagined I’d have a second child.”

“Now you can always threaten to replace me as heir whenever I skip out on my lessons,” Harry joked lightly, but his words were taken as anything but.

Stannis rounded on Harry with a furious expression on his face. “Don’t you ever joke about something like that again,” he commanded Harry.

Harry nearly took a step back in surprise. “I’m sorry, father,” he said quickly.

“You are my heir. Now and always,” Stannis said sincerely. His tone was still hard as stone, but it was a little less angry. “Nothing will ever change that. You are my son, my firstborn. You are Harry Baratheon, heir of Dragonstone. Never think of yourself as anything less, even in jest.”

“I won’t,” Harry replied.

Their walk back up to the castle was made in silence, except for the heavy breaths that came from climbing the many stairs that led up to the castle. It surprised Harry as to how exhausting such a trek was. Before he’d left, he’d travelled between the castle and the fishing village regularly without trouble. Perhaps this was a sign that he ought to resume such trips.

By the time they reached the castle, the sun was cresting high in the sky and dozens of guardsmen were rotating their position. Word of Harry and Stannis’ arrival hadn’t yet spread across the castle, so they received many surprised looks at their appearance within. Yet none questioned them. They welcomed them with open arms and directed them back to the main keep, where they were eager to rest.

The return feast was magnificent. Boar and auroch had been stewed and prepared for them, alongside pork ribs, honeyed duck, roasted leeks and carrots, black bread, and baked berry tarts. Thin wheels of cheese sat next to small dishes of salt and spiced ale. Stannis even went so far as to offer Harry a third cup of wine, which he drank eagerly. It was far stronger than butterbeer was, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

Lady Selyse sat among them without Shireen. She was with her wet nurse near Stannis and Selyse’s chambers. The thought gave Harry comfort, and he was able to enjoy the feast for what it was. After weeks upon the sea after their last visit to land, he was incredibly excited to eat food that wasn’t bread, fish, and whatever citrus they had on hand.

Once evening came upon them, Harry happily retired back to his old room. It felt strange to be back here again, and yet it remained comforting at the same time. He fell into a deep sleep without issue and enjoyed the peace that came with it.

It wasn’t until morning that anyone realised something was amiss. Harry found his mother in hysterics outside of her bedchamber, clutching her head and screaming as Maester Cressen tried to guide her away. Upon seeing him, Selyse leapt up from the floor and rushed towards him.

“Don’t let her touch you!” Maester Cressen shouted as he threw himself in between Harry and Selyse.

“What’s going on?” Harry shouted, cringing at how high-pitched his voice still was. “Unhand her.”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Maester Cressen said regretfully. “Your sister Shireen was found to have a touch of greyscale on her, and your mother may be afflicted by it as well. It transfers quickly through touch, and I must test her to see if she has contracted it.”

“They won’t let me see my baby!” Selyse wailed.

“Shireen must remain in isolation lest the entire castle fall plague to greyscale,” Maester Cressen told her in a soothing tone. “Once I’ve checked you for any signs of infection, I will be able to do what I can for young Shireen.”

“Mother, please,” Harry said, adding to Maester Cressen’s plea. “Do as he says. If you want to help Shireen, then you must do whatever you can to ensure your safety.”

“She needs me,” Selyse shook her head.

“And she will have you by her side, eventually,” Harry lied. He wasn’t entirely sure what greyscale was, but Maester Cressen made it sound like a terrible affliction. He didn’t know if it would be possible for his mother to visit her, but he had to say something to get her to go along with this plan. “But Maester Cressen needs to examine you and Shireen first. The longer this takes, the worse Shireen will get.”

“Please, my lady,” Maester Cressen insisted. “It’ll only take but a moment. I need to perform a visual examination and then a small test to confirm my findings.”

Selyse was wracked with choking sobs, but she reluctantly nodded her head and allowed Maester Cressen to lead her away into another chamber where she could be examined privately.

Taking his chance to see what was going on, Harry knocked on the door to his parents bedchamber. There was no reply, but he opened the door regardless.

Stannis was sitting at a small writing desk by the window, staring off to sea. He was resting his head against his fist. His other hand was clutching a broken quill, dripping with ink.

Harry closed the door behind him quickly and made his way to his father’s side. “Where is Shireen?” Harry asked quietly.

“In a small room the Maester prepared for her,” Stannis replied, his words entirely devoid of emotion or life. “Her wet nurse has been isolated as well, though she shows no signs of the affliction.”

“What is greyscale?” Harry asked tentatively, unsure of how much to prod his father on these questions.

“It is a disease that slowly covers the body,” Stannis answered, replying as though reading from a tome. “It calcifies the flesh until it cracks. Eventually, they become completely covered by the greyscale and become lifeless, at least until the madness sets in. Death is inevitable, eventually.”

“Is there no cure?” Harry asked.

“Maester Cressen says that there is a small chance that a poultice of mustard and a rub of sliced limes after a scalding-hot bath may be able to slow or stop the progress of the affliction, but there is no cure that he is aware of,” Stannis said dourly. “He has written to the Citadel for any other possible practices he could perform to aid in this.”

He’d had a sister for less than a day, and already she was being written off for death. Was he a curse? Someone who only led to misfortune wherever he trode?

“How did this even happen?” Harry finally asked. “Didn’t Ser Axell say that she’d been born healthy?”

There was only the slightest tremble to Stannis’ shoulders that told Harry that there was something seriously wrong.

“It’s this damned castle,” Stannis said, his voice as quiet as the wind. “Greyscale forms in damp, cold climates, like Dragonstone. The servants haven’t been keeping the fires going as hot as they should have, and Shireen must have contracted it in the night.”

This castle. The place he was relegated to by his older brother, the king. The place that Stannis hated. And now it had given him another reason to loathe it.

There was nothing Harry could say to make things right. And yet, he did anyways.

“I’m sorry, father.”

“It is through no fault of yours that this happened,” Stannis replied, deep in his grief. “It is the nature of things that such a curse was to befall us. I can blame no other except for…”

Harry didn’t need to ask who was to blame. The king, the one who’d assigned Stannis Dragonstone instead of his family’s seat of Storm’s End, was the one who was ultimately culpable for this. If Stannis hadn’t been sent here, it was likely that Shireen never would have faced such an affliction.

“I’m sorry nonetheless,” Harry insisted. “This shouldn’t have happened to Shireen.”

“No, it shouldn’t have,” Stannis surprisingly agreed.

The two fell back into silence. There was nothing more to be said between them. After their jaunt across the waves surrounding Westeros, they’d grown closer than ever before, yet certain things still remained as a barrier between them. Stannis would never open up his heart the way that others would, and Harry knew that he had to learn to accept that.

“You ought to get some rest,” Harry told his father.

Stannis scoffed before he unleashed an unusual chuckle.

“Shouldn’t it be the father telling the son that?” He asked rhetorically.

“Yes,” Harry admitted freely. “But that doesn’t make it untrue in this case.”

Stannis had no response to that. He returned his gaze back to the sea outside of the castle.

“I’ll leave you be,” Harry told him. “But if you don’t find rest, I won’t be the only one upset with you.”

Normally, such words would have led to punishment befalling him, but Stannis was too preoccupied to utter such a command. He remained silent as he stared out to sea, and Harry left then.

It took most of an hour before Maester Cressen emerged from the chamber he’d taken Lady Seylse into. He looked tired and frazzled. His wiry, grey hair was in a mess atop his head, revealing his steadily receding hairline.

“Is my mother alright?” Harry asked.

“She does not appear to have contracted greyscale,” Maester Cressen told him. “However, I will have to keep her under observation for the next few days. She must remain within a limited area of the castle in order to prevent any accidental infections. I’ll also have to burn several of her garments as a precautionary measure.”

She was bound to be unhappy about that, Harry knew.

“Was it truly the cold and drafts that caused this?” Harry asked him.

“I believe so,” Maester Cressen answered sincerely. “The castle has been noticeably colder since your father’s absence. Greyscale can be born in such conditions, and your young sister is one of many victims to such a plague. Those living in the Iron Islands have been known to fall plague to such a malady more often than those living on the mainland.”

The ironborn… Harry had plenty of reason to develop a hatred for such people, and yet the knowledge that they suffered the same plague that his sister did brought about a degree of sympathy within his chest. There were few who deserved to be resigned to death from anything, let alone from greyscale.

“Is my mother alright?” Harry asked.

“She is as well as she could be, given the circumstances,” Maester Cressen said reluctantly. His words were delicately chosen, unlikely to upset Harry. “She will recover in time.”

“And how long will that be?” Harry asked.

“Soon enough,” Maester Cressen said in soft tones. “She needs rest and milk of the poppy to see her through this tumultuous event. Rest assured that she will be as well as can be once she’s awoken from her slumber.”

“And Shireen?”

Maester Cressen hesitated at that. “I will not lie to you; her condition is grave. Greyscale is not an affliction that can be dealt with normally. Even the most dire of conditions has a remedy that can act several degrees better than the best remedy for greyscale can. I will do all in my power to aid your sister, but I would not hold out hope. I would seek comfort in the fact that your lady mother seems to be able to still have children. You may yet find that you’ll have another younger brother or sister in time.”

That was of little comfort to Harry, regardless of what the Maester intended. Despite the fact that he’d still yet to truly emotionally connect to his sister, he didn’t wish to see her die nor anticipate a replacement for her.

Harry nodded to Maester Cressen, who took that as if his words of wisdom had been heeded for what they were. Maester Cressen left swiftly to done heavy, bulky garb to visit Shireen. He wore several layers to ensure that he didn’t risk any infection of greyscale upon himself, and Harry was left to wait and wonder what was to happen. He sat down and lingered.

He sat out in the corridor all night, even when the guards gently tried to suggest that he return to his own chambers for the night.

His mother returned to Stannis’ side several hours after Maester Cressen left her. Harry saw the penitent look upon her face and the way her head hung low. He felt pity for her. She didn’t deserve any punishment or sadness for what had happened to Shireen, and yet she seemed to feel responsible regardless.

Once the early hours of the morning came, Harry finally stood up from his seat outside of his parents’ chambers. There was only a sole guard posted outside of Shireen’s chambers, and the man was clearly deprived of sleep.

“I’m here to check on her,” Harry told the man. “On Maester Cressen’s orders.”

Clearly, the guard didn’t have a better understanding of the realities of greyscale than Harry did. He allowed him entry without any fuss, and Harry took the opportunity to slip in before anyone else noticed.

Shireen was kept in a small cot in an otherwise empty room. Harry could see the dust on the floor that indicated that furniture had once inhabited this room, but it’d been removed the moment that Shireen had become its resident.

Harry walked as close to the cot as he dared. He could see his baby sister laying there on the soft bedding. She seemed so pure and innocent that it hurt Harry to imagine that she’d die sooner than later due to the disease within her. Her skin was beginning to flake upon her left cheek. It had turned grey and sickly. Soon enough, it would stretch all across her face and down upon her neck.

He knew of no healing spells that could cure her. In fact, he knew of no healing spells at all. Despite his countless hours spent within the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, he couldn’t recall a single spell that Madam Pomfrey had used on him. It frustrated him to no end that he could have perhaps known a cure if only he’d paid just the slightest bit more attention when he was injured.

Instead, he was left alone with his baby sister with no knowledge of how to help her.

Harry gripped the edge of the cot tightly until his knuckles went white. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen here. Back at Hogwarts, he’d suffered trial after trial, year after year. Westeros should’ve been different. The dire events that’s plagued him for so long shouldn’t have followed him here.

What could he do? Should he wait for the letter from the Citadel to inform Maester Cressen as to any potential cure for such a dire affliction? Should he just wish and hope things would get better?

No, he couldn’t rely upon anything like that.

Shireen was lost deep in sleep. Harry loomed over her, searching her peaceful face for anything that might cure her.

“Please,” Harry murmured to himself. “Please save her.”

His words did little. It neither brought comfort nor a solution to his sister’s plight. He needed something more.

“I can’t let you die,” Harry said, his voice choking up at the last moment. He swallowed the pain in his throat and refocused on his sister. “You’ve barely been born into the world, and yet you’ve been subjugated to so much. I know what that’s like…”

Harry’s shoulders trembled. He brought his hands before him, placing them over top of his sister without touching her.

“Please, I need you to be better,” Harry pleaded. “You can’t suffer this now, not after father and I have just returned. I… I’ve already suffered enough. And so has he. You mustn’t face anything like this, not when you’re so young.”

His words did nothing to aid her. If anything, it only added to Harry’s anxiety. His sister was dying a slow death, and he could do nothing to fix it.

“Please,” Harry insisted. “Please. You can’t suffer like this.”

His words beget no reply. He sought his memory for every single time he spent in the Hospital Wing, yet he could find no healing spell at all. He would’ve suffered for the simplest of charms, but nothing came to mind. It made him feel like he was to blame. If only he’d studied harder…

For hours, he sat at his sister’s side. Nothing came to him, and no one appeared to offer any form of guidance.

By the time that the morning sun appeared, Harry was exhausted. He faintly heard the guard outside begin to walk away when he finally stood back up to his feet.

“I need you to be better,” Harry said aloud, his voice echoing around the empty room.

His baby sister hadn’t stirred in her cot for hours, even as the greyscale continued to grow upon her cheek. It moved slowly, like a fungus upon a rock. The corner of her lip had been touched by it, but it’d yet to reach her nose or eyelid. For that, Harry could be grateful.

“Please don’t die on me like this,” Harry said.

Whatever little emotion he felt for having a sibling shifted suddenly. His mind drifted back to thoughts about the Weasley family and the love that they shared for one another. The protectiveness all of the Weasley boys felt for Ginny suddenly coalesced within Harry’s chest and drove him to what he did next.

Touching Shireen’s cheek was foolishness, but Harry’s magic told him that it was the only thing he could do. He didn’t understand how he could parse the information his magic was sending him, but the thought came clear into his brain. Distantly, he felt a strain coming from someone else, but the feeling died the moment the idea settled into Harry’s mind.

He touched Shireen’s cheek and said the same words he’d said countless times since the previous night.

“I need you to be better,” Harry repeated.

Suddenly, a swirl of magic radiated from within his chest. The sensation was nearly overwhelming, but Harry kept his hand placed firmly upon his sister's infected cheek.

It took several moments to notice before the greyscale began to fade beneath the palm of his hand. Harry stood there as still as a statue until his legs began to tremble. Only then did he shift and realise the change that he befallen his sister.

When he fell away from Shireen, Harry gasped at the change that had occurred upon her face. The grey, cracked skin upon her face had shifted into a tone that matched the rest of her skin. It remained scarred in a way that would forever mark her, but at least the affliction had abated.

Harry was so transfixed by the sight that he didn’t even notice Maester Cressen entering the room until the man gasped aloud.

“The lady Shireen is cured,” Maester Cressen said in amazement. “How?…”

“I don’t know,” Harry smiled.

He walked out of the room without a wand or a hint of magic dangling at his fingertips, but he knew that he had something special within himself. Nothing could compare to the sheer will that he had, and he knew that one day, he’d be able to change the world with his power.